


The Tenderness of the Wolves

by PKA



Category: Elder Scrolls, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, And so is Almost Every Other Bosmer, Basically Stuff that Happens in Skyrim, Blood and Gore, Brief F/M, Cannibalism, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Falling In Love, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:19:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PKA/pseuds/PKA
Summary: A Hannigram AU set in the Elder Scrolls universe.Will, a Bosmer, prefers the company of dogs over men and mer. After turning his back on Valenwood, the Green Pact and the Meat Mandate, he finds himself in Skyrim - land of Nords and Dragons. But survival is a daily struggle, and with his inability to hunt with a bow, he is forced to move further into unknown territory. Little does he know how much this journey will change his life - and his opinions.





	1. Chapter 1

This shot would decide if he had something to eat tonight.

His prey was in clear sight. A great black stag, grazing peacefully on the forest floor, unaware of any danger. He drew the bow silently. The arrow was prepped with Frostbite Venom - if it hit, it would kill. A precious item and usually, he used it sparingly – not for his own health, no no, his body was naturally resistant to weaker poisons. No, this barren land in which he chose to live now was full of threats – bandits and wars and dragons even. He had to be economical with the few possessions he had. It was no use, however – he had to utilize the prized toxin now. He had hungered for too long already.

But he hesitated. He always did. Memories invaded his brain, presenting him with pictures of unmatched gore and violence. The Wild Hunt. In front of his eyes, the stag became a man, and the man became a monster, black and antlered like the animal itself, blood dripping from its talons, ready to tear into anything and anyone. Ready to eat. His hand began to tremble and the sharp pain from an old wound in his shoulder made him hiss under his breath.

A breath of air brought the sound right to the stag. The animal raised its heavy head and looked straight in his direction. Its big, shimmering eyes were entirely black, not unlike his own. The hunter stopped moving, stopped breathing, and then he let the arrow fly.

He had aimed it at the eye, but it hit the antlers instead, bouncing off ineffectually, breaking in half and wasting the venom. The stag panicked at once and bolted, vanishing into the thick green of the woods in seconds, never to be seen again.

He lowered his bow with a sigh, rubbing at the ache in his shoulder in frustration. Hircine had never granted him luck in hunting. In fact, he was the worst archer he knew, always had been, even before his injury. A disgrace to the Bosmerian race - for that and other things.

Despair had driven him to try it at all. He much preferred to fish, and he was a good fisherman, normally, but the salmon just wouldn't bite, leaving him no other options. He had blown his best opportunity.

Another day without food? Risking the possibility of starving? There was one other way and he despised the idea. He had to go into town.

~ - ~

Gerdur was flabbergasted when the Wood Elf got rid of his scabby, brown garment. It exposed a pale body – petite compared to the heavyset Nord she had known all her life. His almost hairless chest was exotic and beautiful and yet Gerdur wasn't sure what to think of it.

»Something wrong?« the creature asked in an almost melodic voice. Those big, dark blue, almost black eyes, devoid of any white, wouldn't meet her own and no matter how friendly he sounded, they remained aloof, almost sacrosanct and entirely unsettling.

»What-« Gerdur said and sank to the bed, fear and desire equally filling her bosom. Hod could come home any second.

»I thought we might be able to come to an agreement, regarding the food.«

The Elf smiled when he dropped the rest of his clothes. It seemed off, but Gerdur hardly cared.

»Or don't you like what you see?«

He was small and thin – too thin – but his legs were strong and muscular, speaking of a life spent outdoors. His scars did, too – covering his body from head to toe. Hod had similar ones, albeit larger and more prominent. Gerdur had always seen them as something beautiful – a map of battles and struggles, of survival. Only his face was spared from them – Mara's mercy, for he was gorgeous. An almost feminine beauty, with his large if spooky eyes and his sinful red mouth, that unkempt mess of dark curls and those long, pointed ears.

No, she liked what she saw. For a moment she could only think of the way Hod flirted with all kinds of women, shamelessly betraying her and thinking her stupid enough not to notice. For a moment she wished for a different life and was willing to take it, if only for a few minutes. Her resistance crumbled and the Elf noticed, taking a step forward. She looked into his depthless, hypnotizing eyes and was reminded of giant insects, crawling in the dark.

»Hod will understand,« he said and then he kissed her cheek. His skin was smooth, no scratch of a wiry beard. She sank further into the fur-covered straw bed and let him proceed – let his small, warm hands discover her breasts, let his sweet breath cloud her senses and let all her doubts vanish utterly...

~ - ~

He didn't feel bad for the lumberjack. He might have lost the connection to his kin, but his love for the woods still ran deep in his blood. Seeing someone treating the trees with so little care robbed him of all sympathy. He had benefited from imported wooden goods while he was still in Valenwood, but seeing the trees being chopped with his own eyes made him sick to his stomach.

»You're going?«

He had thought it might be possible to leave Riverwood quietly. Apparently, he had been wrong.

»Yes,« he said simply, dressing quickly.

It was late afternoon. If he hurried, he could put up the tent before nightfall, kindle a fire and draw the dogs with the promise of a fresh meal. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and raked his fingers through his hair. Damp with sweat. He wanted to take a bath.

Gerdur didn't want him to go. She didn't need to say anything; her body language made it obvious. She wanted to offer more, a bed for the night perhaps, not in exchange for more sexual favors, but because she _pitied_ him.

He smiled politely. It wasn't honest, but it never had been. »Thank you... for everything.«

His stomach was full and so were his pockets and bags. Freely given, at least most of it. He hated the way he had to provide for himself, but it was easier here than it had been in Valenwood. Here he also had plants to eat. Here he had no one to tell him what a failure he was.

He bowed down to kiss her once more and was glad for it to be the last time. He had learned the hard way that most Nords didn't care about hygiene the way Bosmers did.

There was still desire in her eyes, alongside the pity. So plain for him to see, and so disgusting. He hurried to cross over to the door.

»Wait.«

He closed his eyes and tried not to sigh. He looked back at Gerdur with hesitation. She must have been pretty once - before hard labor and pregnancy had ruined her face and body with scars and signs of exertion. She couldn’t be older than forty - and already signs of her age were showing. She pitied him, but he pitied her also - her and the short lived races of men.

»I don't even know your name.«

He bit his lip. Moments passed.

»Will,« he said after a while.

Before Gerdur could respond, he had opened the door and stepped outside, into the light of the setting sun.


	2. Chapter 2

  


He was about to leave this place for good.

The sun's rays gleamed on the river's surface below the tent and Will looked at the water with a tang of melancholy. He had gotten used to this territory, had found good locations to search for mushrooms and berries and had learned to avoid certain dangerous areas. But he had to remain realistic: he wouldn't survive here any longer, not with the fish refusing to bite.

He had stolen a map a while ago and slowly, a plan had formed in his head. His goal was Riften – well-known for its good fishing grounds and the base of operations for the Thieves Guild. Perhaps he would get lucky there and earn a bit of gold on the side with small burglaries. For that he had to either cross the mountains or follow the White and Darkwater Rivers around the Throat of the World, passing through Eastmarch. The way across the mountains would be faster, but much more troublesome. Luckily, Will had all the time in the world.

Will whistled and a few moments later two large dogs leaped from the brush. Winston, a husky, who had accompanied him since he had crossed the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and Buster, a stray dog which Will had saved from freezing to death near Helgen. His two canine companions were almost entirely self-sufficient, but provided warmth at night and protection against foes. They also kept Will from feeling lonely. He liked them better than the company of other mer and men – they were honest and quiet, their emotions and desires easy to understand.

Buster came closer, tail wagging and lowered his head, wanting to be petted. He had been merely a mess of gray fur and bones when Will had found him a year past, almost a pup still – now he surpassed Winston in strength and height, his head reaching up to Will's shoulders. He was an imposing sight, able to kill wolves on his own. In Will's presence however, he was a docile giant, his loyalty surpassed only by Winston’s, as Will was sure he would die for him in a fight. He was glad to have them both.

The day was clear and promised good weather. Optimal conditions for the continuation of his journey. Will packed up. He didn't have a lot, but he would stop by Whiterun to sell the few goods he had – a few pieces of jewelry, some found, some stolen; hides from the few deer he had managed to shoot, wolf pelts, and alchemy goods he wouldn't need anymore. He would trade it all in for non-perishable foods and some new clothes. He briefly considered buying arrows as well, but realistically, his money was better spent on something else.

A few hours later, traversing the streets of Whiterun and looking around the shops in the market square, he decided on a new dagger. His old one had become rusty from contact with blood and water and the smith seemed fairly competent at his job. He bought cheese, bread, meat and some vegetables, ignored the booths that smelled of long-dead fish and managed to keep some gold for rainy days.

Laughing children ran past him on his way to the town center and Will was relieved he didn't have to live inside the city's walls. He had never worked well in crowds, had avoided bigger settlements all his life, even in Valenwood. Too many faces watching him, too many eyes to avoid, especially in a country in which he was so foreign. Men and mer made him nervous, because he understood them too well – the rich folk in their fine clothes, the beggars in the streets, the bandits fighting for their lives in the wilderness. The strange gift of empathy had burdened him since birth and solitude had been his friend for a long time.

Suddenly, he found himself standing beneath a huge, withered tree. A priest of Talos stood nearby, shouting about a mortal god Will had no interest in. His voice faded into nothingness. The tree was much more fascinating. It couldn't even begin to compare to the trees back home, but Will felt, instinctively, how much history it contained. He came closer, reached for it with his fingers and stroked over the bark gently. It suffered – dried up and neglected. Will could hear its lamentations; the pain was vibrating through his fingertips.

Once, the tree must have been an attraction, an enrichment of the city in full bloom. But now, looking up into the treetop, only parched branches remained of it, barren of any leaves.

It seemed a perfect metaphor for Whiterun, for Skyrim and its inhabitants, for the whole of Tamriel even. Wherever he looked, Will saw only the worst of men and mer – egoism and murder and wars and, in the case of his own race, cannibalism. The older he got, the more his childlike naivety, his belief that good and pure things existed, dissipated.

He felt resentment and retreated from the snag, only for the world's noise to hit him once more. Time had stopped and now it crushed him all of a sudden – the priest screamed his sermons, the children shouted and the Companions sharpened their weapons in Jorrvaskr so loudly that Will could hear the death in them.

He hurried, wanting to finish his tasks and leave the city, to make a few more miles today and put up the tent somewhere in the wilderness tonight, animals his only convoy.

~ - ~

Red light softened the lines of rocks and trees embracing the path Will was taking. It was afternoon already, the day cooling quickly. It would rain, later on. He would have to find a place to stay for the night soon, a hidden alcove to protect him from snooping eyes and thievish hands, surrounded by comforting woods.

He had left Whiterun and headed East, following the winding White River. Will kept close to the riverside, straying from the road more often than not, encountering Mudcrabs on his way. Their flesh wasn't particularly tasty except for the legs, but the chitin would be valuable. He would be able to sell it later, or, if he could find the time and a suitable alchemy table, make a disease-curing potion out of it.

Will's head was clear. His focus was on the journey ahead. He was at one with nature, unsullied by all the worries he had felt in Whiterun. More animal than mer at the moment, wild and free and entirely in his element.

The dogs were snuffling around somewhere in the forest, hunting their meal. Will didn't worry about them. They always found their way back.

The sky was growing darker by the minute, the growl of thunder audible in the distance. No good place for the night in sight. Will looked up and saw a bridge connecting two towers above the river. He couldn't spot any bandits, but that didn't mean there weren't any. On the other side of the river, a tempting path led into greener areas, promising quicker progress, without the danger of encountering money-or-blood-demanding Nord. There really wasn't any other way.

Will bent over the water. The current wasn't too strong – he could make it to the other side in a minute or two. He checked his belongings quickly – no furs any more that would soak and drag him under. He had sold everything of value, everything that water could harm. He had already eaten most of his sparse supplies and the rest would survive a brief encounter with water.

He undressed quickly, getting rid of his rags and tying them around his bow, holding it up when he entered the water in bare feet. A tremor ran through his entire body – the more to the east he journeyed, the colder the climate got. It was freezing. His wet body would be cold for hours, even if he could keep the water from his hair and clothes.

The opposite bank neared slowly. His legs began to feel numb. Swimming across would have been quicker with two arms, but he didn't want to harm his bow. A Bosmer without a bow wasn't a Bosmer at all – no matter how little expertise he had in using it.

A little over half. Almost there. Then a sudden movement at his feet. Will looked down frantically. White, round clutches, at first indistinguishable from stones, surrounded the area Will swam through.

Another sudden movement and Will knew. Slaughterfish. And he was swimming right through their nesting grounds.

His chances weren't good. He was weighed down and couldn't move. The current was too slow to carry him away from the fish. His bow and his dagger were entirely useless in water.

He threw the bow with as much force as he could in the shore's direction. It landed in shallow water and continued to float until it got caught on a few rocks, together with his now entirely wet clothes. Shit.

His arms were free now and so he swam as if his life depended on it. It probably did. He risked a glance behind. Two of the animals were pursuing him.

Not much bigger than rabbits, the creatures weren't impressive at first glance. But the small stature belied their dangerousness and Will knew as much. One of them came very close and Will kicked at it in panic, sending the black-and-red fish away – for a few seconds. It came back with its jaws open – its mouth looking gigantic, sharp teeth ready to lunge for Will.

Will screamed but it didn't help. He felt the sting in his calf, hot and searing, and the pain spread through his entire body. More Slaughterfish would be lured by the smell of his blood permeating the water. If he didn't make it to the coast quickly, he would be torn into pieces.

He closed his eyes and calmed his mind. The only thing in the world was the stream and his position in it. He focused on swimming and swimming only. Make it to safety. Make it to the shore.

Gravel beneath his fingertips. He pulled himself out of the water until he reached the plant-covered overhang.

The Slaughterfish had its jaw still locked onto his leg and it floundered now in need of air. The water was red with Will's blood and the remaining fish swam in it excitedly, desperate to get a bite of him too. Soon, there would be more animals scenting his blood, animals that were even more dangerous than the agile, aggressive fish.

Will suppressed an exhausted moan and drew his dagger with a weak, trembling hand. He knew how to kill fish and this one wasn't an exception. A quick cut and the bite around Will's calf eased, the fish's agony loosening its jaw.

It continued to thrash about until its suffering had come to an end, and, just like the fish, Will felt darkness overcome him, exhaustion and blood-loss and cold embracing him and threatening to never let him go.

~ - ~

»You think he's dead?«

»He, I hope not. I prefer them alive.«

As he regained consciousness, Will perceived someone touching him.

»Hey, don't you and Erla have a thing going on now?«

»Have you seen his face?!«

Will felt a rough hand taking hold of his face. He heard a disgusting, amused grunt.

»I don't think she'll like that...«

Both voices belonged to male Nords, but one of them sounded younger, almost innocent.

Will tried to open his eyes but couldn't.

»Don't you have things to do, boy?!«

Someone leaned over him and very bad breath met Will's nostrils. He wanted to cough, but felt paralyzed. The man must have had an impressive beard, for it scraped Will horribly when he kissed his throat. The hand wandered lower, exploring Will's torso possessively and without care.

»Not just his face. He smells a lot better than Erla too.«

Again with the disgusting, piggish laughter. Will tried to move. His body hurt and screamed, opposing any of his attempts.

A sigh and Will heard the other one leaving. He was now alone with the hairy man on top of him.

»Now, handsome. What am I to do with you?«

He felt something hard pressing against his still-naked thigh, moving up and down rhythmically. _Oh please, no._

»Get... off me,« Will said hoarsely, pushing his hands against the bulky Nord above him. It didn't have any effect.

Another grunt.

Finally he was able to open his eyes. Evening light cloaked the man above – which didn't make him any more attractive. He was old and very, very hairy – his beard, dark and frizzing, covered most of his face. His creased skin was covered by dirt and scars. Small, blue eyes, reminding Will of a pig, looked at him with merriment and greed.

»So you're still alive. Good. That means you'll still be warm inside.«

He showed his almost-toothless grin and Will finally felt a wave of nausea hitting him.

He was back in reality now, awakened from his trance and suddenly, the pain in his calf was present again. It was worse than anything he had ever felt before.

Will moaned and bucked against the Nord, who just took hold of his arms and pushed them above his head.

»Yeah, that's it, my little Wood Elf bitch. Tell me you like it.«

Will looked around. His bow was still floating in the water and his dagger must have fallen from his limp hand at some point. He spotted the dead Slaughterfish, one or two arm-lengths away, but the dagger was nowhere to be seen.

The Nord leaned down, his rotten breath encompassing Will again. He tried to struggle but the Nord's grip was so firm it was bruising his skin. Will's efforts were futile. He pressed his eyelids together and decided to wait it out, retreat into his head and hope for the best.

»Tell me how much you want my big, fat c-«

Something trickled down onto Will's face and at first he thought the Nord had come already. He slit open his eyes. An arrow stuck out of the side of the Nord's head. His body fell lifelessly on top of Will.

Petrified again, he didn't move when he heard light steps coming his way. Will knew he wouldn't be able to lift the heavy Nord off of him on his own and as much as he hated to rely on other people, he had to trust that the stranger who had saved him just now had good intentions.

And then, suddenly, he came into view – his savior, a Bosmer just like Will, with long hair - blond and brown with gray streaks in-between, framing his handsome face. He had high cheekbones, even for an Elf, and his amber eyes stared straight into Will's before he regarded the dead Nord contemplatively.

The stranger's lips drew into a joyless smile. »I won't have any fun eating him.«


	3. Chapter 3

  


He must have blacked out again, for when Will next awakened, he found himself in an unknown location. The smell of food had lured him from his slumber. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was inside a tent, wrapped in warm furs and clothes that were not his own. Will propped himself up on his forearms, looking around the small enclosure. He felt warm and sleepy and very cozy. Next to the scent of food, he sensed smoke from outside. A hot fire.

»How are you feeling?«

Will looked up and saw the Bosmer who had saved him. He sat in another corner of the tent consuming a meal, the source of the magnificent smell, from a wooden bowl, obviously enjoying himself.

At first Will thought it to be an illusion cast by shadows. When the stranger moved his head, however, it was clear that they were real. Antlers. His savior had antlers. It wasn't all that uncommon for a Bosmer to have horns or antlers or even some sort of tail, but they were massive – the size of Will's hand, at least. How had he not seen them before?

»Dogs,« Will blurted out, feeling hazy. »Where... where are my dogs?«

»Oh? You mean those two?«

The stranger opened the tent. Evening had lost the battle with the night – it was already dark outside. Two large dogs rested in front of the fire. Winston barked at his appearance, wagging his tail in happy recognition. Buster looked at the stranger, as if to ask if he should attack.

Cold air invaded the tent and the Bosmer let the flap fall again, shutting them off from the world once more.

»They came running when I carried you here. They must have smelled your blood.«

»They are very loyal,« Will said. The warning in the words was clear.

The stranger smiled at him gently. »What is your name?« he asked.

»Will.«

»That is a short name for a Bosmer.«

»It's... it's Willinor, actually.« It had been years since he had said his unabridged name, longer since he had heard someone else say it. It felt foreign on his tongue. »I prefer Will.«

»The Nords must find it more confidence-inspiring. It sounds a lot less exotic.« The stranger smiled again. »My name is Hannibal.«

Will frowned. »You are a Bosmer, too. That is... what, a Breton name?«

»So it is.«

No more information was given.

Will surveyed Hannibal for a while, trying to get the measure of the stranger. »You saved me.«

»I did.« And, before Will could say anything else, he added, »You should eat something.«

Hannibal handed him another bowl. Spiced meat and nothing else. It still smelled delicious, like something familiar he hadn't eaten in years.

»I don't-«

»Don't worry. It's the fish you killed.«

Will didn't need any more persuasion. He took the bowl and dived right in. He was extremely hungry and it tasted divine. Clearly fish, but with a seasoning Will was unfamiliar with. It made the limited diet bearable.

»We are below a camp of giants,« Hannibal explained while Will ate. »They aren't happy about us being here, but they'll tolerate us for now. We should be safe from danger.«

»Where are my clothes?«

»I took the liberty of hanging them out to dry.«

»My weapons?«

Hannibal pointed into another corner of the tent. Will's dagger, bow and arrows lay there, unbroken at first glance. A weight was lifted from Will's heart.

While appeasing his hunger, Will took a look at his leg. Hannibal must have bandaged it. He had done a tremendous job – it almost didn't hurt.

»Why did you save me?«

»It would have been rude not to.«

It was a very basic logic, and not the whole truth, that much Will could see. Beyond that, Hannibal was strangely hard to read. Will had always found it easy to empathize with both humans and elves, but Hannibal was a smooth surface, impenetrable. His mind was blessedly silent, and so his mouth stayed closed as well.

They finished their meal while Will thought of what to do. How quickly would he be able to continue his journey? It was night time already – and with his injured leg he would be a welcome feast for predators of all sorts. Hannibal knew this, of course – and he seemed to be fine with him staying. Maybe he would think it rude to send Will to certain death.

But Will could survive on his own, had always been able to, and he wanted to say as much when suddenly, Hannibal began speaking. »Are you able to stand up? I want to show you something.«

Hannibal helped him up. Standing next to each other, Will realized he was a little taller, a little more muscular around the chest. He knew how to use a bow – he had proven as much.

Will was led out of the tent. The dogs came rushing to him and Will greeted and petted them for a few moments.

»Come,« Hannibal said and brought him to the edge of the bluff on which Hannibal's tent stood. »See?«

The night was cold, but it had not yet started to rain. The sky was clear and when Will looked over the mountain ledge, he saw a valley stretching for miles. Cold fog clouded trees and snow-covered slopes, high cliffs and majestic stone formations. Above the mountains, polar light sparkled in colors of yellow, green and red, allowing a view of the stars only occasionally. Both moons sat high in the sky, Jode and Jone standing watch, as Will's father would have said. Only a Dragon would have made the picture more perfect, flying over the mountain tops with a roar.

The valley was no less impressive. Will looked down and a high fir tree almost brushed his face. Below, the White River had transformed into a waterfall, and it continued its way through the land with unrelenting force among the hills. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful.

»It's beautiful,« Will said.

»It is.«

Something about his voice made Will turn around. His eyes were fixed on Will. In the dark, they seemed just as black as Will's. A hunger lay within them, dangerous and all-consuming. His antlers stood out against the night sky, looming, and seemed even bigger, entirely black. That memory again, sudden and frightening and Will took a step back out of instinct. He stepped into the void and would have toppled off the cliff had Hannibal not reached for him at the last second.

A pack of wolves howled in the distance. Hannibal felt warm against him. He didn't smell like he belonged to Skyrim, no blood, no steel. He smelled like home. Will breathed in deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

»You wouldn't survive the fall,« Hannibal stated. »And I have no intention of hurting you.«

Will chuckled.

»Hannibal the Cannibal,« he said and laughed some more.

Hannibal said nothing. Will let his head rest against his chest, against the familiarity of his scent.

»You are far from home,« Hannibal said softly, obviously feeling the same.

»So are you.«

»But you won't ask me why I left.«

Will grinned against him. »Maybe I just don't find you that interesting.«

»You will.« It sounded confident.

Will looked up at him. The hunger was still there, but it was less naked – hidden beneath a layer of softness. Whether artificial or not, Will couldn't tell. Hannibal was frightening, but he also made Will feel at peace. Hannibal wanted everything and was not ashamed of it. There was one thing Will could give him, something he had been familiar with giving as payment for a long time.

He stretched his neck and placed a kiss on Hannibal's plush lips. It lingered a moment longer than he had planned and Will felt himself close his eyes. Hannibal was pliant and very kissable, unlike the Nords and Imperials Will had had such pleasure with in the last few years. He tasted like meat. Will thought of the man who had tried to rape him, thought about how revolting he had been, thought about how Hannibal had given his life new purpose. It made Will feel powerful to kiss the mouth that had consumed another, to be here and alive and wanted. Maybe those were Hannibal's feelings. Maybe they were his own. Will wasn't sure.

Forts had always come quickly, but now he felt a connection building just as fast. Perhaps it was his brain telling him that he had survived, that he had defied death once more and should celebrate it with recklessness. Or maybe he was drunk on the romanticism of this beautiful place, of this beautiful night, of a perfect moment between two strangers, guided together and watched over by Jode and Jone. He had started kissing Hannibal with the intention of repaying him for saving him, but now he felt like he actually wanted to kiss him – again.

The wind found its way beneath Will's ill-fitting clothes, too large for his slim body. He shivered and pressed closer to Hannibal, feeling the contours of his warm body. He still hadn't said a word. He hadn't even moved.

»Let's go back inside,« Will said temptingly, looking up again with his eyebrows raised.

Hannibal put a hand on his cheek, stroking it very tenderly. He looked Will deeply in the eyes, forced him to hold the contact.

Will took his other hand, placed it on his chest and moved it downwards slowly.

»You don't have to show me,« Hannibal said and his voice sounded strained. He swallowed. »I have seen you. I have clothed you. I know how sensual your body is.«

»Then touch me,« Will purred. It was a practiced play, but it felt more real this time.

Hannibal's nostrils flared as if he was smelling him. Maybe he was. Maybe his nose was so keen that he could still scent Gerdur's traces on him.

»Is this how you adapted?« he asked.

»Adapted?«

»To being unable to shoot.«

Will had never been seen through as quickly as right now. He felt surprised and helpless.

»Your shoulder has been injured, and never healed correctly, but that's not the reason you can't use a bow. Your problem lies... in your head.« Hannibal's hand wandered up from Will's cheek to his hair, tugging gently on his curls. »So that's how you've been able to survive. Trading sex for shelter and food. Your aversion to yourself is deeply entrenched - you never understood why people thought of you as attractive. But you are willing to exploit it when the opportunity offers itself. What a cunning boy you are.«

Will stepped away, careful not to fall off the cliff again. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signs. Maybe Hannibal was hungry for something that Will was absolutely unwilling to give: knowledge.

»Don't get into my head.«

»What happened to you that emotional intimacy scares you so much more than the physical?«

Will's first instinct was to escape, but there was no place to go, not with his leg the way it was. He didn't answer, however, and Hannibal started back a few beats later.

»I apologize,« he said, as tenderly as he could. »I shouldn't have poked you like that.«

»Damn right you shouldn't have.«

»You are very beautiful, Will.« It sounded entirely honest. »But I am not interested in mindlessness.«

Will felt hurt. Not only because he had been rejected – that hadn't happened before, but it was a small pang, a little notch in his already porous self-assurance. He felt hurt because he had been vulnerable in front of a stranger, because he had been easy to read and Hannibal was not. He had lowered his walls for only a few minutes, and they had been attacked relentlessly.

»I...« Will swallowed around the lump in his throat. »I am tired.«

He wasn't. He didn't even feel cold anymore. The shock had left him with sudden numbness.

»Feel free to rest in the tent,« Hannibal offered, polite, as if nothing had happened. »I'll keep watch for a while - until I can be sure we haven’t been followed.«

Will lay down in the tent, pulled the furs and rags close to his body, shut his eyes and ignored the smell of Hannibal, so wonderfully homelike.


	4. Chapter 4

  


When Will woke, last night's magic had vanished.

Hannibal was sleeping next to him, bundled up in furs much like Will himself, head resting on a pillow that supported his antlers. Will gave himself a few minutes to look at his sleeping form.

He looked different during the day. His hair was held back by a leather strap, taming the sheer mass of it. It had become messy from sleep – some of the long strands fell into his face, hiding him behind a mostly-brown curtain. Hannibal's mouth was open and he snored very softly. His eyes moved behind closed lids and his brow was furrowed slightly. Will wondered what it was he dreamed about. He resisted the urge to reach out and brush his hair out of his face, touch his antlers and see if they had the same quality as deer's antlers. Hannibal looked adorable and very innocent, despite his apparent age. He was at least a few years older – wrinkles covered the skin around his eyes and mouth and a few minor scars were scattered across his face. His nose had been broken at some point and his eyebrows were way too light, even for an Elf and – _damn_ , why was he so attractive?

The rejection seemed to sting worse this morning. Will decided to make a silent exit, as he usually preferred to do after a night spent in town.

His limbs were still tired and he felt numb when he got up. Numbness was good – way better than the pain he had expected from his leg. Perhaps Hannibal had some experience with the Restoration School?

The air was wet when Will left the tent; the sky was murky. Even the mountain chain looked boring today. All mysticism was lost – the valley below glittered only in the dull gray shades of dawn.

Winston and Buster greeted him enthusiastically. He spent a few minutes petting them. Hannibal must have fed them, otherwise they would have been out to hunt by now. Will's stomach lurched at the thought of what they had eaten.

He packed his things quickly, made sure everything was alright and still functioning, stole a piece of bread to eat on his way and off he was without a glance back. Maybe, Will thought, it would have been different if Hannibal had said Yes to his overtures.

It would be a troublesome journey with his leg the way it was, but he wouldn't show any more weakness in front of Hannibal. He had always been better off alone, and the other Bosmer wouldn't convince him otherwise, no matter how charming he was. Hannibal already knew too much about him. It was dangerous to stay any longer. Forming attachments brought more pain and Hannibal had made it clear that he wasn't interested in quick fun on the side.

He was still wearing his furs, he realized. They were warmer and softer than his own clothes and they smelled so very good.

Rain started pouring down on him when he reached the road again. Even Skyrim seemed to disagree with his decision to leave. Will ignored the small voice in his head that had the same opinion and pulled Hannibal's furs closer to his body.

~ - ~

_Throb. Throb. Throb._

Will tried to ignore the dripping of the blood. He felt sick. Every step he took felt harder to execute. Pain seared through his body, again and again, but he urged himself to continue walking, not to give up, no matter how much it drained his energy. Winston bumped his cold nose into Will's leg as if to help him walk.

The blood had bled through the bandage. The smell would draw wolves, or maybe even bears. Will had to hurry, get somewhere safe to rest.

_You would have been safe with Hannibal._

It wasn't his own voice reminding him of the fact – it was his father's. Will's father had always seen him as something lesser, something that needed to be protected, unable to survive on his own. He would have wanted him to stay with Hannibal, to let himself be provided for. Such a source of shame to his family already. His inability to find a partner had added to it – Will had always been so different that no one was interested in him. Will was a burden – to his family, to potential partners, to his whole race.

And so he marched on. Proving his worth to himself and himself only while wandering on the long path to Windhelm. Tent, bow and the rest of his gear felt heavier than usual. Sweat ran down his brow, together with the water, pouring from the sky without the slightest inclination to stop anytime soon.

Hannibal's furs grew heavy with water, clammy and uncomfortable to wear but Will held onto them. The farther he went, the colder it got. He shivered and ignored his leg, which was telling him to stop, to rest for a while. He didn't stop and ate while walking.

Soon, the sun set again, unseen. Not a moment of hope on this rainy day. Will wondered why he was making himself hurry like this. There was no rush to get anywhere. He could turn in early, let his leg heal in peace. He was trying to prove something to himself and didn't even know what it was. A dark mood hung over the Elf like the cold fog hanging over the path he took. He ignored his sore feet and marched on.

Usually, Will preferred hidden paths to paved streets – closer to nature, easier to disappear if need be. Today he had thought it better to be considerate of his leg, although he would have liked to get close to water again to hunt for some Mudcrabs.

After nightfall he hesitated to move on. Snow-covered areas lay ahead and when further on it snowed as much as it rained here, he would freeze to death before he reached the main city of Eastmarch. Perhaps it would be best to pitch up a camp for the night. Stopping made him realize how much he was shivering. He was cold and hungry - he had barely eaten anything. He had travelled some miles, but now he was paying the price for it. Longing filled him, suddenly – for Hannibal's tasty food and the warmth they had shared in his tent the night before.

To the left, a bridge led over the White River, further in Windhelm's direction. To the right, the Darkwater River flowed steadily onwards before joining with its brother. Will paused at the crossing, unsure how to proceed. The current was strong, but something told him that the other side promised a quiet and safe place to rest.

He made doubly sure there weren't any nesting grounds in the water before he crossed the river quickly, Winston and Buster at his side.

The water was bitingly cold and the wound in his leg throbbed mercilessly. The cold froze his brain, making Will wonder why he bothered to keep on living at all. What was his life worth? Not even one of his own race wanted him. No one had ever wanted him. His existence was pointless, except for his little collection of strays. It would be easy to give up, to succumb to the pull of the river, to let the water drag his lifeless corpse all the way to Windhelm. Such a nice thought, to forget everything, to stop fighting, to cease breathing...

But he did fight. Something inside of him pushed him further, gave him motivation, though he wasn't sure what it was. He saw eyes the color of honey in his mind, caught a waft of a homely smell. His survival instinct pulled him from the icy water and he collapsed on the shore, breathing harshly for a few seconds before standing up again like an injured animal that had survived an almost deadly encounter.

He crossed over the nearby hill with a few heavy steps. A bleak landscape lay before him – more hills in muddy shades of brown and gray. A few firs and withered leaf trees stood between small rock formations and mammoth carcasses. A dead region, almost no vegetation, no game in sight. Had he been wrong? He looked further ahead. A small forest, barely visible, and next to it, steam rising from turquoise tarns.

Hot springs. Sulfuric pools, made by cracks in the earth, bringing warm water to light. Warm. His leg would hate it, but he could only think of how it would feel to let his whole body sink into the water's embrace, to relax into it, how his sore limbs would feel afterwards. He felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought.

The ascent was cumbersome; his body was shivering from the cold so much he could barely hold himself upright. Soon, he thought. A quiet, warm place for the night. It would be worthwhile.

Two tents were already standing near the forest's small plateau, on an island in between the sulfur pools. A small fire had been lit. Will could smell roasted meat. His stomach growled, chewing on air, needing to be fed. He wouldn't risk stealing – the inhabitants were nearby, taking a bath in one of the pools. Two hunters, a man and a woman, sitting close together. More than close. The prude Nords wouldn't even give each other a kiss in public and most of them were too busy boozing anyway, so it was a strange sight to see two people being intimate with one another.

It looked... nice, the way these two, a female Redguard and a male Nord, used their solitude to love each other in the warm water. The dark-skinned woman sat astride the blonde man, her arms supported on his shoulders. They were lost in a deep kiss, moving rhythmically, murmuring soft words Will couldn't hear. It was a tender moment – their love filled Will and made him long for something similar. They seemed happy here, in the wilderness, far away from civilization – and it made Will smile before he turned away to give them some privacy.

There were more hot springs ahead, far enough away from the lovers to not disturb them or be disturbed by them. Will reached them quickly, his leg momentarily forgotten. He got rid of his clothes quickly, throwing them carelessly aside. He would put up the tent after a little bath. The swirl of the white fog above the water was too compelling to resist any longer.

His naked toes breached the surface. He moaned happily and submerged first his whole foot, then his leg. Heat suffused him – the wound was easily ignored. It was so pleasant, he couldn't help but fill the cold night around him with sounds of his pleased laughter.

At the deepest point of the pool, the water reached his hip. He squatted down, let his torso glide beneath the water, felt the dirt and the rain and the sweat wash from his skin, exchanged for magnificent cleanliness.

Moments like these were the reason he kept on living, never giving up.


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


There were almost no usable plants, apart from a lot of Dragon's tongue. Nothing to treat his wound with; no herbs, no mushroom, nothing.

Will feared infection. He had been reckless with his leg. When he changed his dressings after his bath, he could feel his temperature rising. Winston and Buster stayed closer than usual – they could probably smell the fevered sweetness on him.

He was tired. His body felt heavy. He needed a place to sleep, a place to put up the tent for the night. As he wandered through his small, forested area in search of a fitting spot, torchbugs buzzed through the air next to him and Will caught some. He ate their thoraxes raw and hoped for a healing effect.

The trees stood protectively close. The rain was still falling, but the ground was hard and dry. Moss grew sparsely. He would have a hard time putting up the tent anywhere.

There was a witchy beauty about the place; a looming, almighty presence hung over it. Something old lived here, something powerful.

And then he saw the entrance to a cave.

Will swallowed. His instincts told him that there was something of importance in there. If the cave was empty, he'd at least have a quiet place to sleep tonight. Excitement tingled through his weak body as he drew his dagger and sneaked inside, controlling his ragged breathing in order to stay undetected.

A long path led him down into the ground. Silence around him. No animals, men or mer. The air was humid and smelt like plants – strange for a place like this, amidst the volcanic tundra.

Deeper and deeper still, until he could hear something – water, rushing. Will's mouth felt dry and he realized how thirsty he was. He was sweating, hair clinging to his forehead. The fever was starting to have an effect. Was he hallucinating? It _sounded_ like a waterfall...

And then the path ended and he was standing in a gigantic underground chamber. Moonlight cascaded through two holes in the ceiling, softly illuminating the place.

Will had been right about the waterfall. In fact, there were two of them, meeting in a basin of crystal-clear water. He was almost entirely alone – just a few torchbugs, butterflies and the dogs. He took a few more steps until he reached a man-made bridge. Plants surrounded him - succulent green, grass mostly, a few pines here and there. Way ahead, past a plateau with an old fireplace, stood a giant tree with purple leaves. Its roots seemed to fill the entire chamber. But Will did not pay it much attention – there were more important things at hand.

He bowed to drink from the water. It was cold and should have been refreshing, but Will felt sicker every minute. He looked around hastily. Next to the entrance was a small rise. He could put up the tent between the two pines there. It would be invisible to anyone who stumbled into the place, giving Will enough time to react – if, indeed, he made it through the night.

He hurried with the tent, raising it with trembling hands, then quickly went through his various pockets again – he had nothing left that would stave off a sickness, nothing to treat an illness, nothing that would alleviate his pain.

Shivers ran through his body as he lay down, hands clenching into the last dry items he had. Winston and Buster lay next to him, whimpering softly. Will hushed them. The last thing he needed was to be detected by other visitors to the cave. He let their warm, furry bodies shuffle closer, nestling in the comforting present of his beloved animals as the murmur of the waterfalls lulled him into a fitful sleep.

~ - ~

Pain woke him. His whole body ached and his head throbbed mercilessly. Worst, however, was his leg. It felt as if something was gnawing away at it.

With difficulty, Will opened his eyes. There it was again, the antlered werebeast from his nightmares. Its huge talons were hooked into his leg - it seemed about to feast on his flesh.

If it was a hallucination, it was a vivid one, and Will did not take any chances. He kicked out in panic, wanting to hurt, wanting to get away, but his leg was weak and the monster's grip tight. Black, predatory eyes surveyed him coldly.

»Will,« it said, but the voice didn't fit. It was too warm.

Will blinked and the beast was gone. In its stead was the Bosmer he had met earlier, head bowed low, antlers brushing the roof. His long hair was tied up, which made his high cheekbones all the more noticeable. He had taken off Will's bandage and was studying it broodingly, before his eyes traveled up.

»What did you see?«

His voice echoed in Will's head. He shook his head which made the ache worse.

»I'm hallucinating.« His voice came out hoarsely.

»Will,« Hannibal said again, shifting closer. »I am real.«

A warm hand brushed his cheek. Will wanted to flinch away, but instead he leaned into the touch, feeling hot and cold all over.

»You contracted Ataxia,« Hannibal explained, retracting his hand slowly. His voice sounded soft and familiar, like a caress. »You have a fever.«

Hannibal rummaged in one of his bags until he found a small red phial. He uncorked it and held it against Will's lips.

»What-«

»Hawk and Felsaad Tern feathers, combined with a charred Skeever hide. It should take care of the infection,« Hannibal said, with a hint of impatience. »Drink.«

Will did. If Hannibal wanted to harm him, there were easier ways to do it. It tasted horrible, but the effect was almost immediate. His head felt lighter in seconds. The trembling in his hands reduced slowly, but the pain in his leg became more prominent.

»You'll still feel feverish for a day or two. If you make it that long, that is. You are in a bad condition.«

Hannibal went back to work on his leg and Will let him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and tried to bear the pain under Hannibal's touch. Will could smell food outside the tent and his mouth watered at the thought of a warm meal.

»I applied a salve that should have a healing effect.« Hannibal's voice lulled him, comforted him. »Nonetheless, you shouldn't walk for a couple of days.«

_And do what? Starve in the middle of nowhere because I have no food left?_

»How did you even find me?«

Hannibal didn't answer. He propped Will's leg on something soft and then left the tent.

Will sat up, wincing at the pain, and looked around. The dogs were nowhere to be seen. He whistled and heard an answering bark from somewhere outside. At least they were still fine. How long had he slept?

From what he could gather from inside the tent, it was bright outside. Daytime, then.

Hannibal wasn't gone for long. When he came back, he had a familiar-looking wooden bowl in his hand. Steam rose from it and Will's stomach growled for whatever was in there.

»Eat this.«

The bowl contained soup. The scent was good - no vegetables, just different chunks of meat. Bosmeri diet. It was obvious what kind of meat Hannibal had made it from. Will looked at him questioningly.

»You made me... soup?«

Just the hint of a smile. »Yes.«

It was answer enough. This wasn't the moment to be picky – as much as Will avoided it these days, he wasn't a stranger to eating people. He had spent a great many years in Valenwood, enslaved by the Meat Mandate. And the prospect of eating parts of the guy who had previously tried to rape and kill him did not bother him much, to his own surprise.

He ate hesitantly at first. It tasted divine, unlike anything he had ever tasted before. Both the consistency and the seasoning were perfect. The meat was tender – it almost melted on Will's tongue. Hannibal was good at this – being forced to rely on only meat for most of his meals had made him creative.

»It's good.«

Hannibal looked at him approvingly. »It's beef shank. I thought it’d be appropriate.«

Will ate in silence for a while, aware that Hannibal was watching him intently. 

»You didn't need to help me,« Will said eventually. »Again.«

Hannibal smiled. A quick rise of the corners of his mouth and gone just as quickly. »I know. But you would have died if I hadn't... again.«

Will doubted that Hannibal had helped him just because he was a good guy – or because he would have considered it rude not to. And yet Hannibal had expressed no interest in him. What did he want?

»I can't pay you, you know,« Will said. »I have nothing to give you. Nothing of value.«

»Oh yes, Will,« Hannibal countered, amber eyes glinting mischievously. »You do.«

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was one tiny Hannibal POV section in this chapter before that I've gotten rid of in the process of writing. It didn't add a whole lot to the story so I erased it. We did learn that Hannibal is barely pushing 120 years of age though. : )


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been 8 months, but here's a new chapter! Sorry for the delay everyone!

  


After being provided for, Will fell into a restful sleep, letting the day slip by as he had last done in his early childhood. When he complained about that upon waking, Hannibal argued that there was barely anything he could have done, with his leg the way it was. Will supposed he was right, though he didn’t like the smile on Hannibal's face when he said these words.

With his belly full and his weary bones rested, Will felt energized. He had always been restless and unable to stay seated for long, and it wasn’t any different now, no matter how much Hannibal clearly disliked the thought of him wandering about. He had already tried to prevent him from exploring the cave, ordering him to stay lying down not once, but twice. It was torturous. Will’s head brimmed with thoughts and unanswered questions while Hannibal was outside the tent, preparing dinner.

»You said that there was something I could pay you with, earlier. What did you mean by that?« Will asked once Hannibal entered again, two bowls in hand. He doubted that Hannibal would take him up on his previous offer now.

»You can pay me with time,« Hannibal said, sitting down and handing him his soup.

Will ate a few spoonfuls before continuing the conversation.

»With time?«

»In your current state, it would be unwise – if not impossible – to continue your journey. Let me spend a few days with you here until you are feeling better.«

Will raised his eyebrows and looked at him skeptically. »That seems like an awful deal for you.«

»I'll have the pleasure of keeping you company. I'm sure you are aware that there aren't many Bosmer in Skyrim.«

»Precisely the reason why I am here.«

Hannibal smiled. »Yes, I thought so. Solitude might be the only reason for one of our kin to come to a place like this. The Nords' temperament is... different than our own. Belligerent, if you will.«

»Belligerent,« Will repeated. »That's one way to put it.«

Will ate the rest of his soup before speaking again, enjoying the way it filled his body with warmth and energy and feeling, yet again, sated. »Why are you here? You obviously don't want to be alone.«

Hannibal looked at him for a long moment, amber eyes contemplative.

»You want to spend time with me,« Will prompted. »It seems only fair that I know something about you before I agree to that.«

»Very well. I will tell you my story – if you eat another bowl of soup, that is.« 

Hannibal looked over Will’s body with a critical eye. It was true; Will was emaciated from fruitless months in Skyrim’s wilderness. Hannibal wasn’t the first to take note of that. He was the first without pity in his eyes, however. In its stead, there was deep understanding, something that told Will that he had lived through similar conditions once. It was for that reason that he took another bowl of soup despite his belly being full. He had to recover quickly, after all, to continue his travels. Once he had taken the first spoonful, Hannibal began to talk.

»I was not born in Valenwood, although I consider it my home. My father was a Breton, you see, who took a Bosmer as his wife, and I spent the first years of my life in a castle in Rivenspire, the northern region of High Rock.«

Will knew of Rivenspire by name only. In his head it was a bleak place with gloomy skies under which no forests could grow. Rocky and moory and devoid of any lakes or rivers, it was no place he ever wished to visit.

»I lived peacefully there for a few years. My mother soon bore me a sister. Her name was... Mischa.« There was hesitation in his voice, and sadness, when he finally spoke her name.

»Was?«

Hannibal paused another moment. »She is dead. I left Rivenspire behind after that, traveling the world. Valenwood was my destination, home of my heart, and that's where I stayed for almost eighty years.«

»But you left.«

It visibly relieved Hannibal to change the subject to something other than his dead sister. »As did you.«

»Why?«

»I wasn't welcome anymore. The forest rejected me and I had no relations there to keep me. It's as simple as that.«

Will sat back, brow furrowed, soup forgotten. »And now?«

»Now I'm travelling once more in search of a place to call home, though my destination is not clear this time. I imagine this is quite similar to your own predicament.«

»I'm not searching for a new home. I left because I wanted to.«

»But is it not the same? I could have stayed as an unwanted guest. But I took my cue, just like you.«

Will laughed at that. »You fall in love with Valenwood, but it does not fall in love with you.«

»But we have found the next best thing, have we not?«

»What do you mean?«

»Have you not felt the weight of her presence?« Hannibal asked, surprised. »You stumbled upon the cave at her call. The tree whose roots lead through the cave. The Eldergleam. The oldest creature in all of Skyrim, perhaps in all of Tamriel – older than all the trees in our home forest. I planned to visit her, but I found you instead.«

»Please don't tell me you think our fates are linked or any such nonsense. I'm grateful that you helped me – not once but twice – but I don't think a _tree_ united us.«

»It's not Eldergleam who united us. My desire to find you did, Will. The same desire that saved you not once, but twice; the same desire that makes me find nourishment at the very sight of you. Largely inexplicable, even to me. What do you think, Will? Is it merely because we share the same race, or could it be that I am drawn to you because we are identically different?«

Will was taken aback and found no answer.

A grin spread across Hannibal's features. He looked mischievous and handsome and like a mer certain of eventual victory. »I assume we'll find out in the days to come. Finish your dinner.«

~ - ~

Hannibal helped Will stand up and walk in order to switch the tents. There wasn’t enough room on the rise for two – Hannibal’s tent was bigger and would provide more comfort for both of them together. Once Will stood, breathing in the musty yet pleasant cavern air, he found he could not sit again.

An icy wind blew through the cave, trees and grass shivering as if unaccustomed to the cold. The day neared its end as soft pink light filtered through the ceiling cavities. The giant, purple-leafed tree, Eldergleam, cast ominous shadows. Will was tempted to get closer to it. This was not just an ordinary cave – it was a sanctum. And it was beginning to look beautiful to him.

He had walked but a few steps toward it before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

»You are well-named, _Liebal_ ,« Hannibal remarked.

Will smiled. _Liebal_. The word for ‘will’ in Valenwood-Ayleidoon. It had been too long since he had heard the language.

»Very well,« Hannibal said, suppressing a sigh. »I shall join you if you are so keen to stretch your legs.«

Will whistled for the dogs to come to heel. Both Winston and Buster lay near the small fire Hannibal had built to warm the soup, and jumped up to accompany their master. Winston licked his hand when he walked past him to climb down the small rise, but Will barely registered it. He had only eyes for the animal that was tied to a makeshift post at the entrance of the cave, feeding on a patch of grass there.

»What... is that?« Will asked.

»Surely you have seen a horse before?«

Without roads, there was no need for horses in Valenwood, and though he had encountered a few on his travels, Will was horribly afraid of them. Never had he been astride one of the huge animals, although purchasing – or, in his case, stealing – one of them would have made his travels a lot easier.

»This is Cesar,« Hannibal said fondly.

Cesar was thinner than the horses Will had seen in Skyrim so far, with a lighter coat. He had muscles under his shining brown hair but looked not particularly robust, certainly not like he belonged so far up north.

»He is a Bay Horse,« Hannibal said, guessing his thoughts. »I bought him in Skingrad on my way through Cyrodiil.«

It made sense, in retrospect, for Hannibal to have a horse. He had been quick to find Will, and able to transport large amounts of... meat. Will was surprised mostly because he had not thought of it before.

Hannibal went to pet his steed, jumping down the rise gracefully. He looked like a king standing next to it, with a crown of antlers adorning his head.

Cesar huffed and pressed his big head into Hannibal's chest. Hannibal stroked over his nostrils before giving him a treat out of one of his pockets.

Will did not come closer.

»I assure you, he is more afraid of you than you are of him,« Hannibal said. »His previous holder had a fondness of hitting him for misbehaviour. He still takes fright when he sees someone coming towards him with a stick or whip.«

»I'll keep that in mind.«

Hannibal looked up to him with something akin to challenge in his eyes. »Exposure would help you in this case, Liebal.«

»I'll pass.«

»As you wish,« Hannibal said and stepped away from the horse to rejoin Will. »Shall we?«

~ - ~

The bark was warm under his hands.

After pausing at the small island in the center of the cave for a short rest, they had finally made it all the way to the other side of the sanctum, standing before the imposing sight of Eldergleam. Roots, each as big as a man, hindered them from coming any closer, but Will was content with what he found here.

The tree pulsed underneath his palm, as if it possessed a heartbeat of its own. It was so strong and alive that it almost made Will forget his leg, painfully reminding him that the abdication of his bedrest had not been a wise choice.

Will thought back to the last tree he had touched. »There is a sapling of this tree in Whiterun. I saw it there – and its suffering.«

»The Gildergreen,« Hannibal said. »Struck by lightning and withered since.«

»The Nord think they can rule over nature by placing a mockup in one of their cities,« Will said, frowning. »Tasteless.«

»What do you sense when you touch it?«

»It feels... immensely powerful.«

»Supposedly, one gains additional years of life upon eating its fruit.«

»If one can get to the tree, I assume?« Will looked up the blocked path. He had no doubt that there was more to protect the core up ahead than just roots.

»Many have tried, but none have succeeded. Legend has it the only kind of weapon that can harm the tree is an ancient dagger, for Eldergleam is older than metal itself.«

»Why would anyone want to harm something so beautiful?« Will asked.

»Because for some,« Hannibal said slowly, »the prospect of prolonged life is irresistible. Look at us. You and me. Older already than most men will ever become. Would you not have tried the same, had you known your life would end twenty years ago?«

His gaze was intense. Instantly, like an insect flying into resin, Will was trapped in it, to be preserved for eternity, utterly consumed. 

A blink and the moment ended. Will turned away quickly, willing his racing heart to decelerate.

Luna moths and torchbugs slowly crawled out of their hiding places to greet the night and whirred around them. The pink light previously cascading through the ceiling had faded, giving way to a clear, dark blue sky ahead. From his position on the ground, Will could just see a few stars.

»It's getting late,« he said, turning to head back to the tent. He could feel Hannibal’s eyes tracking him, monitoring the way he favored his uninjured leg.

»Are you certain you don't want me to fetch Cesar? He could easily carry you back,« Hannibal offered.

»I will not ride on that creature.«

Will had less than a second to react before he was suddenly lifted up, hands winding around him. One held onto his legs while the other supported his back, holding on tight.

»What are you doing?« he screamed, instinctively grabbing onto Hannibal's shoulder as he was carried.

»I'm relieving the pressure on your leg. I'd hate for your stubbornness to ruin what I've worked so hard to mend.«

Will felt himself blush. Hannibal's fur armor felt soft under his fingertips, but beneath that he was much like Eldergleam – warm and with a beating heart. Will despised relying on others, but it was embarrassingly easy to relax into Hannibal's grip. They had talked, but it was decidedly difficult for Will to grasp him. His intentions were closed off to him, his face often a smooth mask he could not see through. That had never happened before. He felt a pull toward him, rooted in by mysticism and rejection, and for the first time, he wanted to know more.

»Have you ever drunk wine, Will?« Hannibal asked when they were halfway across the sanctum. 

»No.«

In his family, alcohol distilled from milk or meat had been served on special occasions, though Will had never taken a liking to it. Although allowed under the Green Pact when using plants harvested outside Valenwood, Will's family never had been able to afford a luxury such as wine. He had kept that way of thinking when he had emigrated. Mushrooms, berries, fruits and vegetables were a necessity for survival and Will took them from nature with respect. Wine, however, held no purpose besides pleasure and was therefore unappealing. He had seen enough drunken Nord to know he never wanted to end up like them.

»Better than fermented blood ale,« Hannibal promised. »When I bought Cesar, I acquired a few bottles of a fine Skingrad wine. I have but one left.«

They passed Buster on their way, who had taken an interest in the warm steam coming from one of the small fumaroles. A whistle and he followed, sure to stay close by for the night.

»You should hold onto it.«

Up close, Hannibal's smile looked feral; his mouth was sensual, but his teeth were incredibly sharp. Will could not help but be both annoyed and interested at the sight.

»Who better suited to share it with than you?«


	7. Chapter 7

»What God do you pray to?«

They were sitting by the dying fire, accompanied by the crackling brittle of dry wood. The cone of light created by the flame sealed them and the sleeping dogs off from the cave around them, creating a relaxed and intimate mood appropriate for deeper conversations. Hannibal stirred the fire before opening the bottle of wine he had held onto.

»I don't pray,« he said. The cork came out with a satisfying sound. Hannibal held it up to his nose and inhaled, seemingly satisfied with the aroma.

»But you believe in the Green Pact.«

Hannibal possessed two extra wooden cups for drinks. It did not surprise Will. »I uphold it, yes. I uphold the belief that both Y'ffre and Hircine exist.«

Will paused. »Y'ffre _and_ Hircine? Isn't that-«

»Contradictory, yes. We are not supposed to worship one of the Daedra, are we? And those among us who believe that Hircine created our race are frowned upon. But their ideologies are fundamentally the same. Y'ffre is of morality, of harmony with the Green. Hircine is of wilderness, of rules of nature and those who live within it. Perhaps they are the same, or fragments of the same. We may both feel the pull to our homeland in this sanctuary, but first and foremost, it is sacred to worshippers of Kynareth, one of the Aedra. What they feel may be what we feel, just channeled differently, through one of the Nine Divines.«

Hannibal handed Will one of the cups. The liquid in it was deep red and smelled unfamiliar. Fermented fruit. Who had thought of such a thing? Will took a little sip and grimaced before he answered. »I don't believe. In any of them. No Y'ffre, no Daedra, no Aedra. I did not lose form when I left the forest, when I broke the Green Pact. And Hircine has never granted me luck in hunting.« He shrugged. »My fate is what I make of it.«

»But the Wild Hunt does exist,« Hannibal said, watching him intently. »I don't know whether Y'ffre or Hircine is responsible for it, but you cannot deny its existence.«

That memory again. Tall, black antlers stretching toward a burning sky. Dark blood dripping from elongated, reaching fingers, drip drop, onto Will's face. He shuddered. »Yes. But who am I to say that it is a god's doing?« _If it is, then that god is unmatched in cruelty and wanton malice._

With another sniff of the cup, Hannibal drank. He seemed to enjoy the taste of it. Refined, Will thought. It suited him. In the light of the fire, his features were sharply delineated. He had high cheekbones for a Bosmer, almost Altmeri. His light hair, worn loose now, glimmered red in the firelight. » _First, she told of the Green, the forest and all the plant life in it,_ « Hannibal said slowly in the common tongue, accent thick in his voice. » _She gave the Green the power to shape itself as it willed, for it was her first tale._ «

Will closed his eyes. »My mother told me that tale so often as a child. Do you think she is watching us now? Y'ffre, I mean, in whatever form she exists? We are very close to a body of water, after all,« Will said, eyes drifting to the lush foliage surrounding them, blackened by night. »Two sinners, eating the forbidden fruit.« He grinned, took another sip of wine. It tasted sweeter now, his palate adjusting. The wine was building on his tongue, rich and textured, a fruity and acidic blend that he couldn’t quite describe.

»I don't hide from God,« Hannibal said. »Any god. I am not a common practitioner.«

»No, you aren't.«

Hannibal paused, thinking. »Perhaps we are already scrubbed from the tale Y'ffre is telling, separated from our kin. Condemned to silence.«

They were still for a minute. It didn't bother Will. He had embraced silence long ago.

»You're as alone as I am,« he noted calmly.

Hannibal smiled. »And we are both alone without each other.«

Will noticed he didn't mind Hannibal's presence. He had avoided contact with other mer and men, not only because he understood them too well, but because he himself had never truly felt understood. Hannibal was different. Hannibal did not judge or dismiss, neither his inability to hunt nor his aversion to the Meat Mandate. He knew. He accepted. And Will felt an odd desire to open himself further, to let himself be seen by someone else, not just in the physical way he was used to, but on a deeper, more private level.

He had always thought himself strange, lackluster, the worst example of a Bosmer, and thus he had been treated. It felt good to be interesting to someone; not for his pretty face, but for what lay beneath. And despite there being a part of Hannibal he could not grasp, one that scared him, he felt a pull towards him, steady and increasing in strength.

But perhaps it was just the alcohol making his thoughts soft around the edges. Will took another long gulp and emptied his cup. He had drunk before, but the Valenwood ale, made exclusively from animal remains, was hardly comparable to this invigorating beverage. More than a cup had never made its way down his throat - and so the drunkenness he felt settling in his bones now, making him relaxed, heavy and at the same time giddy, was unwonted.

»Another?« Hannibal asked.

Will nodded and received a refill. Silence settled over them again before Will pushed through it, disrupting it with words he had never said before.

»I was born in Falinesti,« he said reluctantly, starting at the beginning. »My mother died when I was very young. For many years, Dad and I were on the move. We travelled the path Falinesti once walked: from Greenshade to Malabar Tor, to the Elsweyr border and Grahtwood until we settled in a small village outside Southpoint. My father took all the work he could get to feed us. He tried to teach me how to hunt, but...«

Will grimaced again. The wine was not at fault this time.. »I was a better fisherman. Dad could never understand that. I was a disgrace to him, to the family. He believed that Bosmer belonged to the forest, not the sea. And then my hesitation to follow through with the Meat Mandate... That didn't help his impression of me. His only son, a failure.«

»So you left?«

Will shook his head. »There was an... incident.« The screams still rippled within him, the stench of blood and meat lingering in memory. He clenched his fist over his belly. »The village was destroyed by a beast.« He looked at Hannibal and smiled grimly. »Some poor being subjugated by the Wild Hunt.”

Remnants of destroyed huts, blood and intestines sprawled around him like a macabre piece of art. Will just standing there. Useless.

»I would rather have died that day.«

Hannibal shifted as if he wanted to touch him, comfort him, but stayed where he was.

»I tried to shoot it with my bow, distract it from the others, but as always, I failed. I felt the prickle of the Wild Hunt but I was afraid. I didn't lose form, but if I had... Perhaps I could have saved someone. Been useful once.« Will licked his lips, shook his head. »I couldn't bear the forest anymore. So I left. Out of shame.«

Will swallowed the contents of his second cup in one long pull, the taste of it ignored.

»It wasn't your fault,« Hannibal said slowly. »Had you shifted, you would have died as well. What you did – shooting it, trying to get its attention – was very brave.«

A laugh broke lose, and with it, tears. »I miss the forest,« Will blurted out, angrily wiping away tears. »I miss my kin, even though they hate me. I miss seeing leaves instead of the blue of the sky, being rooted to the earth and the trees and all the living things under Valenwood's embrace. I even miss the damned Kollopi.«

Winston whined and put his head into Will's lap, looking at him with big, sorrowful eyes. Will petted him and exhaled deeply.

»That's what you wanted, isn't it?« he asked. »Another aspect of my pathetic soul for you to chew on.«

»Only those who hide from their true selves can be called pathetic, Will. Your honesty is far from that. Quite the contrary; your potential is remarkably stimulating.«

That, too, must have been the consequence of alcohol. Was it the tears in his eyes clouding his vision, or did Will truly see a shimmer of red on Hannibal's cheeks?

He looked good like that. No matter the reason – whether shame, arousal, the heat of the fire or just the blush of drunkenness – the color made him more attractive. Will pictured him in the throes of passion, head tilted back, eyes almost closed and cheeks this precise color. He had to swallow at the thought.

Alcohol and the rush of unburdening made him braver and he raised, the world swirling around him. Hannibal’s head followed, and he looked at him with open interest. How lovely he was from above, his antlers just the right height to hold onto, to navigate Hannibal’s head to wherever he wanted it. Will reached out and touched the bone. It was warm and smooth under his fingers, heated by the fire. Hannibal flinched out of instinct, but neither said anything nor moved away. Will wondered if it his antlers had been covered by velvet when he was a child.

»How does it feel ?« Will asked.

Instead of answering, Hannibal took hold of Will’s hand, moving the tip of one of his own fingers over his thumbnail. Will felt the touch of it in the tissue beneath. When Hannibal increased the pressure, he felt it more intensely.

»Like this,« Hannibal said softly. »The closer you get to the root, the more I can feel it.«

»So they aren't actually antlers,« Will said, stroking one lightly. »More like horns.«

»S-so to speak,« Hannibal forced out, sighing as Will caressed the base.

»So big.” It came out in a slur.

Hannibal closed his eyes and cleared his throat in an attempt to suppress a groan. It didn't work.

»Good?« Will asked and it sounded smug even to himself.

Hannibal just nodded. His face had become redder.

Will rested one of his hands between the pair of antlers, on top of Hannibal's hair. He raked through it gently, feeling the softness of the strands. Like Winston’s fur, just longer, and similarly calming.

Suddenly, a hand gripped him by the wrist, stopping his movements. Hannibal still had his eyes closed but the force of his grip was strong.

»Please stop,« he said. Will wasn't sure if it was a warning or a plea.

Rejection. Again. The sting was less painful with the alcohol protecting him like a second layer of clothes.

Will retracted his hand.

»I'm going to bed,« he said abruptly.

Hannibal nodded again, opening his eyes slowly. »Can you make it back to the tent on your own?«

»You don't have to carry me _everywhere_ , Hannibal.« It sounded angrier than he had intended.

They stared at each other for a moment. Will wasn't sure what he was hoping for, but he wanted Hannibal to say... something. Perhaps to confirm that Will wasn't the only one feeling this attraction. To fight their shared loneliness for a few hours. Give in, you silly Boiche.

»Goodnight, Liebal,« Hannibal said instead, his voice both endlessly tender and sharp as a knife.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote The Elder Scrolls fic, so excuse me if my knowledge regarding the lore is a bit... rusty. If you notice any mistakes, please tell me! 
> 
> I have absolutely no idea when the next chapter will be up and I won't make any promises at this point. Just know that this thing will never be abandoned! ; )
> 
> My beloved beta [ fragile-teacup ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup/)is in on it again - without her, this story would be filled with errors! Thank you so much, my dear!
> 
> Come visit me on my [ tumblr ](http://www.pka42.tumblr.com/)!


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